The California Drop-In
by MasterKenobi1138
Summary: After the events of Season 10, things have settled down again for the Blood Gulch Crew. That is, until yet another former Freelancer shows up through a teleporter with yet another quest for revenge. Just another Monday morning for Red and Blue Team.
1. Another Monday

**One – Another Monday**

Simmons was taking a long scan of the canyon with his sniper rifle when he heard someone coming up the side of the hill. Someone breathing very heavily. And cursing.

"What took you so long?" said Simmons. "You're an hour late!"

"No," Grif countered, "you're an hour early! No one needs to be up at seven. And I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Donut trying to teach me Pilates." He paused and shuddered. "With his hands around my waist."

"Ugh. I did _not_ need to know that."

"So what's today dumb mission from Sarge?"

"I'm glad you asked!" Simmons zoomed in on the rifle and did another sweep of the canyon. "Sarge thinks the Blues are going to try and sneak up on us before lunch. And then they'll take our flag. Again."

Grif laughed. "Man, they are getting really good at that."

"They've got an ex-Freelancer for a leader."

"Not to mention our security's worth shit."

"No, it's not!"

Grif turned and pointed at Red Base, located just below the hill. "Simmons, I just saw Sarge yelling at the teleporter and Donut flipping through magazines. All Wash would have to do is knock and ask politely and he'd have our flag."

Simmons could picture it all too well. Still, he sighed and said, "Well, at least we could avenge our team and steal the flag back before he got to Blue Base!"

"A badass Freelancer versus two Army rejects? Yeah, the odds are in _our _favor."

* * *

In the precise center of Blood Gulch, equidistant between the two bases, a small green cloud of static electricity formed. It soon took on the hazy shape of a grown man before climaxing in a shower of sparks.

When the smoke cleared, Agent California landed feet-first on the ground, wobbling terribly. His blue-and-orange armor was singed from the teleporter discharge. And for some reason, he had the worst headache.

"Agent Cal reporting," he groaned, mostly for the benefit of his helmet's recorder. "No sign of the target. Coordinates did _not _bring me to Sidewinder as predicted." He glanced slowly to his left, then to his right. "I appear to have landed… in the middle of a box canyon."

His headache was overwhelming now. Even the sunlight was too much for him. Cal dropped to his knees, fast on his way to passing out. But for the sake of his diary, he managed to add one last statement.

"Counselor, you'd better be here…"

* * *

Simmons lowered his sniper rifle. "Dude, did you see that?"

"Simmons, it's seven in the goddamn morning and I've had only two cups of coffee." Grif spread his arms out. "At this point, I could hallucinate anything due to lack of sleep."

"No, I mean that guy out in the middle." He passed Grif the rifle. "He's covered in black stuff. I think he teleported in."

"It's probably Tucker. He has the worst luck with teleporters."

"But check out his shoulder. Don't you recognize the insignia?"

"Uh… we can safely assume he's on our side?"

Simmons shook his head. "Nope. He's a _Freelancer_."

Grif was silent for a moment. Then he lowered the rifle and turned to his partner. "Great. And here I was looking forward to another boring Monday."


	2. Geeks Bearing Gifts

**Two – Geeks Bearing Gifts**

The mysterious Freelancer was still lying prone on the canyon floor as the four soldiers of Red Team cautiously approached. They came to a halt behind a tree and observed him at a distance.

"And then he just showed up and passed out," Simmons was saying.

"Well, that gives us a clear advantage!" Sarge replied. He moved his shotgun from his shoulder to a ready position. "Take the enemy while he's asleep, just like the Greeks did at Troy. Using the most honorable strategy of all time!"

"I don't know if he counts as an enemy, sir." Simmons looked the fallen agent over through the scope of his sniper rifle. "I doubt he's even weak enough to resist."

From Sarge's left, Donut gasped. "Sarge, I think we should approach this guy. You and Simmons take him from the front while Grif and I take him in the rear!"

"Or we could sit here and wait," Grif countered. "I vote for sitting and waiting."

Simmons shook his head. Even after all these years, he could barely believe he was still the only sane person on their team. But as far as he could tell, that was true of every team they'd met. Blue Team had Wash—and before that, Church. But when your IQ is easily a hundred points above Caboose, it's not hard to appear sane by comparison.

"Maybe we should call Doc," he suggested. "He could examine this guy for us."

"But he's a dirty Blue!" Sarge pumped his shotgun in fury. "That's treason talk, Simmons!"

"Isn't Doc supposed be neutral?" Grif asked. "Like one of those pacifists?"

"Ha! 'Pacifist' is just fancy talk for coward!" As he spoke, Sarge swung his shotgun toward Grif menacingly. "And you know how I feel about cowards…"

"I meant Doc could examine the Freelancer's injuries." Simmons took another look at the fallen man and added, "Also, in the event that that guy does wake up and start killing people, I'd rather his first kill be Doc instead of us."

"Hmm, good point." Sarge lowered his weapon. "Donut, you seem to be friends with Doc. Get on the radio and call him over. But do it quietly. I don't want the other Blues to ruin this."

"On it, sir!" the pink-armored private cheerfully replied.

* * *

Over at Blue Base, it was another routine Monday. Wash was inside the base running some kind of boring bureaucratic procedure. Caboose was being an idiot somewhere, and Tucker was on top of the base, soaking up the morning sun. It was newly cleaned and drying in the sun for that extra polish. He knew the ladies loved it. How could they not?

From behind, he heard someone approached. When he saw it was Doc, Tucker sighed. It was never a hot young female recruit sent by Command. Not since Sister anyway. He wondered what ever happened to her, then decided he didn't care. Not caring was just another way of being sexy.

"Good morning, Tucker!" Doc called out. "Getting your fill of Vitamin C, I hope!"

"Nah, Doc, I just got this armor cleaned and now I'm polishing myself off." He paused to let that sink in, then added, "And I don't just mean the armor. Bow chicka bow wow."

"Uh, good one." Doc glanced left and right before continuing. "Hey, I just got a call from the Reds. They need me to help them out with something in the middle of the canyon. Can you tell Wash I'll be out?"

"Man, I'm busy up here." Tucker stretched his arms and tilted his head back to catch more rays. "Can't you tell him?"

The medic shrugged. "I would, but he seems busy, too. And mad. I don't why. That meditation exercise I showed him should be helping."

"Oh, please. I told you that would never work. Meditating isn't actually cool. It's something that monks and Jedi do in movies before they go into battle."

"Well, I'm going. If anyone asks, I'll be at Red Base."

"Okay, but no one will." Tucker closed his eyes and leaned back into the sunlight. "Now, about that hot young recruit that Command is gonna send…"

* * *

Doc put away his medical scanner and looked up at the Reds. "Well, his vitals are good. I think he'll be all right once he wakes up."

"Yeah, about that." Simmons nodded at the medic's tool. "Any chance of making sure he doesn't wake up? So he doesn't fly into a homicidal rage?"

"Now, that's no way to treat a guest."

"Guest? He's probably a psychopath here to kill us like the Meta!"

"Or just kick our asses on a daily basis like Wash!" Grif added.

Doc shrugged. "I can talk to Wash about it. See if he can keep our friend calm for a while."

Sarge laughed. "Don't even think about it, Doctor Feelgood! You just want to give the Blues one more soldier on their side! But this is Red Team's claim! And we call dibs!"

"You can't call dibs on a person."

"Looks like we just did."

"And I call sloppy seconds!" Donut chimed in. "Now we have to keep him!"

"But Wash might know him," Doc explained. It was like dealing with Caboose all over again. "Look, let me give him a call and—"

He was cut off when the Freelancer suddenly disappeared in a loud _whoosh _and a flash of green light. Then he heard another whoosh in the distance and looked around. "Uh, where'd he go?"

"Walloping wormholes! He's right on top of our base!" Sarge lifted his shotgun in triumph. "Told ya we got dibs!"

While he led the Reds back to their base, Doc sighed. He switched on his radio and dialed in Wash's channel. "Hello, Wash. Come in, Wash. This is Doc. Over."

In the background, he could hear Wash yelling, "_And don't touch anything_!" Then he heard the ex-Freelancer clear his throat and reply, "I read you, Doc. What do you need?"

"Uh, I thought I should tell you that we've got a visitor—"

"Caboose, _no_!" Wash's cry was followed by a muffled explosion and a plaintive "Ow" from Caboose. "Sorry, Doc, it'll have to wait. I've got a bit of a situation here in the mess hall."

"I was just trying to use the ice machine!" Caboose called out. "Now there's a fire!"

"Don't even know how he does it," Wash muttered before closing the channel.

Doc lowered his head. He looked over at Blue Base—where he could detect a faint trail of black smoke appearing overhead—and then over at Red Base, where Red Team had gotten their new Freelancer friend inside.

He decided to go back to Blue Base. Caboose would probably have a few burns to treat. Just another boring Monday.


	3. Of Course This Will Work

**Three – Of Course This Will Work**

Leaving Donut with the unconscious Freelancer, Grif wandered up to the top of the base toward the sound of Sarge and Simmons talking. He found them standing over the pile of equipment taken from the Freelancer: a marksman rifle, a healing unit, and a broken-down pod. Grif recognized it as one of those Armor Enhancements from the Freelancer warehouse.

He was still traumatized from the Speed Unit incident.

"Hey, what's going on?" he asked.

Sarge looked away from Simmons. "Nothing that concerns you, numb nuts."

"We're trying to fix this teleporter device the Freelancer was wearing," Simmons explained. "It looks he was using a lot, but something went wrong and he ended up here."

"Guess it's his lucky day," said Grif. "He winds up in the most useless piece of real estate in the galaxy."

"At least he can't go anywhere without this." Sarge knelt down and began to move around the wires inside a carbon-scored module. "Works just like one of the base teleporters, but built for one suit of armor."

"Glad the Meta never got his hands on him," Simmons remarked. Grif nodded vigorously.

Sarge began to hum to himself while he worked. Grif was almost tempted to watch, but that sounded it would require concentration, which was another kind of work. And work wasn't his thing.

Then again, who needed to work when you had a teleporter…?

Grif walked over to the edge of the base with a casual air. "You know, Simmons, I think this might be a great opportunity for us."

"What are you talking about?" Simmons looked back at Sarge, then back at Grif. "Hold on. This is just like what happened at the warehouse! You want to use the teleporter to disappear when Sarge has work for us."

"Simmons, I'm hurt." Grif gestured at the module in Sarge's hands. "It's a piece of valuable field equipment, good for any kinds of scouting missions and sneak attacks on Blue Base… and all _you_ can see is a tool for slacking off? For shame, Simmons."

"Forget it, asshole. This plan of yours is never going to work."

"Of course it'll work. And best of all, Sarge doesn't realize he's building it _for _me."

Simmons gave a loud sigh and dropped his head. "You know what? I'm kind of curious to see how you'll fuck this up. Let's do it."

* * *

Cal's first glimpse was a vivid shade of pink. He thought it was his eyes adjusting, but he couldn't stop seeing pink. When his eyes finally adjusted, he saw through his visor that he was staring up at a soldier in pink armor.

He must've hit that canyon floor pretty hard.

"Where…?" He groaned. The back of his head was still burning. More teleporter discharge. "Where am I…?"

"Oh, you're awake!" The trooper leaned in. "Welcome to Red Base!"

Red Base. Definitely a simulation trooper. Cal sat up very slowly. At least his sense of balance was recovering. "And where's Red Base?"

"You must be new here." The trooper puffed himself up with pride. "Finally, somebody else gets to be the new guy! Let me fill you in, rookie. I'm Private Donut and this is Blood Gulch Outpost Number One. We're fighting the Blues to claim their flag, they're fighting us for our flag… you know the drill. And believe me, I know a lot about drilling fresh meat!"

Cal thought he heard that the wrong way. Then he shook his head. "Ugh, okay." He reached for his lower back. When he didn't feel the teleporter there, his mind cleared. "So, Private, let me ask you something."

"Sure!"

In one fluid motion, Cal had snapped himself off the bench and onto his feet. He slammed his palm under Donut's chin and used his other arm to hold him up against the base wall.

"What," Cal hissed, "did you do with my teleporter, and who do I have to kill to get it back?"

"Oh, no!" Donut flailed in his grip. "Please, sir! I'm too young and too pretty to die!"

Cal raised the pressure on him. "Talk to me, maggot. Where's. My. _Teleporter_?"

"Sarge has it, Sarge has it!" The pink private kicked desperately. "Please, make it stop!"

Without warning, Cal let go of the kid. He watched Donut fall onto his knees and gasp for air.

"Consider yourself lucky, Private. I make it a point not to hit kids." He paused on his way out of the recovery room. "Especially not kids wearing pink."

But before Cal left, he heard a weak voice growl, "It's _not_… pink… it's… light… _red_!"

The next thing Cal knew, there was a loud hiss, followed by something bright and blue landing at his feet. He had just enough time to recognize the plasma grenade and throw himself into a diving roll when it exploded.

The blast sent Cal's roll straight into a wall. He hobbled back to his feet and tried to run for the nearest base exit. But he found his path blocked by two more troopers, one in maroon armor and the other in orange.

"Hold it right there!" the maroon soldier shouted. He aimed his battle rifle at Cal's head. "Uh, you're in violation of UNSC Code Section Seven, Subsection Thirty, Paragraph Two!"

"Dude, seriously?" The orange soldier nervously lifted his rifle as he spoke. "You're going to throw the rulebook at a Freelancer?"

"Way to back up me, Grif," said the maroon soldier. Cal let him finish before socking him in the gut and grabbing the rifle out from his hands.

"Speaking of backing up…" The orange soldier—Grif—began to retreat backward, but Cal raced forward and kicked his legs out from under him. As Grif fell, Cal vaulted over him and out into the open air.

* * *

This place was Blood Gulch. The coordinates he'd gotten from that data dealer were a scam. As Cal slid along the side of the base, looking for handholds to the top, he knew that the dealer's name would be added to his revenge list once his mission was over.

After a few seconds of careful climbing, Cal made it to the top of Red Base. The platform was deserted except for a single red soldier crouched in the middle over some parts. The soldier had his back turned to Cal and was humming while he worked.

Cal stayed perfectly still until he got a look at what the soldier was tinkering with. It was his teleporter unit. Badly scorched, but still salvageable.

With years of stealth training to fall back on, sneaking up on the soldier wasn't too difficult. Trying to keep him in a rear chokehold, however, was.

"Hah!" the soldier called out. "Clever ruse, son! But you forgot—_hrggh_—one thing! Never… _grr_… leave me without my shotgun!"

Cal felt something smack against the side of his helmet. He threw the Red soldier away and dove straight for his teleporter. He grabbed his DMR and healing unit in the same move.

"Sorry to disappoint you, son," the crazy old soldier called out as he pumped his shotgun, "but it looks like you just got Sarged!"

"Not this time," Cal growled. He activated his teleporter and vanished before Sarge could fire.

* * *

The green light faded and Cal dropped into a ready stance with his marksman rifle.

He was still on top of Red Base. Now just a few feet to the left.

"Son of a bitch," Cal snarled. He hit the teleporter again, but it only moved him back to where he'd started.

Meanwhile, Sarge was trying to hit him with rounds from his shotgun, but Cal kept dodging with incredible timing. In between disappearing and reappearing, he slammed his fist against the module in frustration.

"Why are you breaking on me _now_?" He slammed his fist with emphasis as he teleported between different spots on top of the base. "Dammit! Come! On! Start! _Working_!"

"Ha ha!" Sarge stopped his firing and watched the Freelancer helplessly teleporting back and forth. "Looks like the spider got caught in his own web! Point goes to Red Team!"

"This! Isn't! Funny!" Cal switched off his teleporter and angrily aimed his rifle at Sarge. "I don't know who you people are, but I need to get out of here, so why don't you call in a transport and I'll be on my way."

"Oh, leaving us so soon?" a familiar voice called out. Cal turned, now facing another simulation trooper in blue armor with yellow trim. But the voice didn't match the armor he associated with it.

"I don't believe it." Cal lowered his rifle. "Washington? Is that you?"

Wash nodded. "Hey there, Cal. Been a long time. Why don't you put down your weapon and we'll talk this over?"

Cal's first thought was to protest. Of course he couldn't stay. He had to keep moving. The Counselor wasn't going to find himself. But he remembered Wash from Project Freelancer. Good old Washington, the least crazy agent to make it on the Leaderboard. Even if he hadn't stayed sane for long; Cal had heard all about the Epsilon incident.

At least he seemed sane now.

"Yeah, all right." Cal put aside his rifle and walked over to Wash. Then he stopped and turned to Sarge. "Hey, sorry about the mess. Tell your guys it wasn't personal."

"Hey, up yours, buddy!" one of the Red soldiers called up from below. "Kick his ass, Wash!"

"Can it, Grif," Wash called back. He turned to Sarge. "I'll be back to account for the damage he caused. This won't take long."

Sarge shouldered his gun and nodded. "All right, but you'd better warn us before any more of your old buddies show up around here."

"I'll do my best."


	4. War Stories

**Four – War Stories**

Over at Blue Base, they'd managed to put out the fire and clean up the mess hall. However, the ice machine was strictly off-limits for Caboose. Wash had assigned him to patrol duty on top of the base, where he couldn't harm anyone. Hopefully.

Now inside the mess hall, Cal sat down at the table across from Wash, heartily feasting on an MRE. It didn't seem like he'd eaten much in his recent travels. Wherever he'd been.

"After what went down with Tex," Cal said in between bites, "I was taken off the roster. They reassigned me to Security at HQ. I was serving there until you and Maine broke in and tore everything up."

"Huh, sorry I missed you."

"Not your fault." Cal shrugged. "Actually, I turned out all right. I went into Armor Lock instead of dying. Then the authorities pulled me out, patched me up, and put me in prison. I heard you got the same treatment."

"Yeah, about that." Wash tapped his blue breastplate. "The Chairman sent me out to recapture the Epsilon unit. He thinks I'm dead. Officially, I'm Church, the leader of Blue Team."

Cal looked him over, then nodded. "Sure. Well, I won't tell anyone. But I've got my own assignment. The Director might be dead and gone, but Counselor's still out there."

"I thought he was arrested, too." Wash remembered the Counselor all too well. His calm and measured voice still haunted his dreams, right behind the Director's perpetual scowl and Epsilon's tortured memories. Just because he'd been polite didn't mean he hadn't been a coldhearted bastard like the Director. If anything, he was too good at covering up their crimes.

"He slipped away, just like the Director. I've been jumping through every place where he might hiding." Cal's palm smacked against the tabletop. "Today I was _supposed _to be at Sidewinder, but instead I end up here in the middle of fucking nowhere!"

"Okay, take it easy." Wash looked at his old friend, feeling a little concerned. He remembered Cal as having a temper. It was just as well that Project Freelancer failed; pairing him with an AI might not have gone well.

As he put his helmet back on, Cal's tone changed. "I can't stay for long. I have to keep up the search. Don't suppose you'd care to join me?"

Wash shook his head. "I've got a job, thanks." Then he remembered the last visitor they'd gotten at Blood Gulch. "But tell you what. I think I know someone who might be able to help you."

"Yeah? Who's that?"

* * *

Through rapid streams of gunfire, they ran. Her fist slammed down on one gunman's faceplate; his automatic weapon kept firing, now scattering his allies in the warehouse. A follow-up kick sent him flying, while her second punch to his partner dropped him to his knees. And while he fell to the ground, she was grabbing a new pair of weapons and blasting apart the field generator.

"I can do a lot worse than this," Carolina called out. She spun her plasma pistols around and looked over the warehouse interior. "Anyone else feel like _not_ cooperating?"

At first, she got no response. Then, from behind one of the crates, a small white-armored hand waved. "Uh, don't shoot, lady! We give up!"

"Smart choice." Carolina turned as a small blue hologram appeared over her shoulder. "Find anything?"

"Better than that," Church replied. "I found everything. Shipping manifest, message logs, and a full inventory. Everything that was used in the last Insurrection fight."

"Hey, some of that was legally obtained!" the surrendering trooper called out. "I have a receipt!"

"Shut up!" Carolina holstered her pistols and began to walk with the AI toward the main exit. "How long until UNSC gets here?"

"We've got a minute to spare." Church chuckled. "I mean, obviously. This was a cakewalk compared to the last two gangs."

Carolina glanced over her shoulder. The rear entrance to the warehouse was sliding open, as gray-armored UNSC soldiers came pouring in. "You were saying?"

"Hey, I said we had a minute. Plus or minus a standard deviation."

"You're as bad as Delta."

"Worse, actually. He got that from _me_." Church dissolved, but his voice was still present. "Ready when you are."

Right before the authorities could call on her to stop, Carolina activated her camouflage and speed units together. She disappeared from the warehouse in a fading cyan streak.

* * *

After a short break on a rooftop two blocks away, Carolina took a moment to enjoy the sunset and her view of the UNSC rounding up the arms dealers. She loved staying in action, though it wasn't the same without her old team.

She could never forgive the Director for how he helped ruin the Freelancers. And she was slowly learning to forgive herself for the rivalry with Tex. All those hours wasted on trying to be better than her when she should have taken care of her team. York had seen it. He'd even tried to tell her, and that was the worst scar of all.

Her introspection didn't last long. Church materialized in full form beside her as her radio squawked for attention. "Well, what do ya know? It's a call from home."

Carolina accepted the call through her helmet and heard Wash's voice. "Carolina, this is Wash. Do you copy?"

"I read you, Wash. What do you need?"

"I need you and Church back here ASAP. We've got an old friend visiting."

Carolina went still. Another Freelancer? Alive? "Which friend is that, Wash?"

"It's Cal."

"California?" Church tilted his head. "Wait a minute. He was… reassigned, wasn't he? They put him to work at Command."

"It's a long story," said Wash. "Can you make it here or not?"

"We'll be there in a few hours," Carolina replied with conviction.

"Signing out."

Church looked back at the sunset. "Wow. Agent California, huh? What are the odds? Oh wait, I _know_. They're ten thousand, seven hundred and five to one."

"Come on, let's get moving." Carolina started to pack up her gear. "If Cal's active again, it can't be good."


	5. What Are Friends For?

**Five – What Are Friends For?**

"Okay, try it now!" Wash shouted.

Cal activated his teleporter. He vanished in a green blur of light. Then reappeared right behind Wash.

"Dammit," he growled and tapped at his teleporter. "I was aiming for the top of the base."

"Yeah, I wouldn't have let Sarge get his hands on it. His repairs can be a little… questionable."

"I haven't been able to find a good technician like the guys we used to have." Cal shook his head in disgust. "The UNSC guys could keep this safe, but they didn't know to maintain it."

"I'm surprised you don't know how."

Cal favored him with a death glare. "I'm not exactly renowned for my patience, Wash."

"And that's why you never made it onto the Leaderboard."

"Ugh. Don't remind me."

* * *

On top of Blue Base, Tucker came up to find Caboose standing alone with his assault rifle. He looking down at the canyon. "Hey, dude, what's going on?"

"Oh, the new blue guy is arguing with Agent Washington," Caboose answered. He nodded to himself. "He's not doing very well. I don't think he'll be a good team player."

"Caboose, he's not joining Blue Team."

"Not with that attitude, he isn't!"

Tucker sighed. "Come on, he's a Freelancer. Those guys don't do well on teams. They just show up, kick ass, and then disappear." He lowered his head and sighed again. "Just like my old man."

"Tucker, your dad was a Freelancer?"

"What? No, dude. He was a drifter. But he was a kick-_ass _drifter! And quite a player, too. That's why I've got so many brothers and sisters."

Tucker walked over and looked down at the canyon floor. Wash and the new Freelancer—Cal—were still working on that awesome teleporter. He was glad to see he wasn't the only one whose armor got coated in black stuff when coming out one of those things.

"Man, I bet you could pick up all kinds of chicks with your own teleporter." Tucker leaned back like he was at a bar. "It'd be all, 'Sup, girl? Want to spend night in Paris? We'll be there in a sec.' _Whoosh_! Score!"

Caboose gasped. "And then you could discover life on other planets! And pick _them_ up, too!"

"Eww, no. I've had more than enough interspecies contact for a lifetime."

"Now I wanna play with the telephoning teleporter thing!" Caboose looked over at Cal. "Do you think if I ask nicely, he'll let me try it?"

"Hah, I doubt that."

"What if I offered him a cookie and some orange juice?"

"No, not even then."

"Hmm. I will have to rethink how to become his new best friend."

Tucker rolled his eyes. He remembered how Caboose treated his other "best friend," Church. He hoped Cal was insured for accidental death and crippling injuries.

* * *

Simmons followed Donut and Grif to the front of Red Base, where it was well-shaded from the midday sun. Perfect for a team meeting. He'd said so at their last meeting. Even recorded it in the minutes as Team Secretary. It was nice to finally see one of his suggestions taken to his heart.

"Thank you for meeting me on short notice," said Sarge. "As you all know, we now have two ex-Freelancers in the canyon. And you know what _that_ means."

Grif nodded. "Uh, yeah? Shit's about to go down."

"Tell me about it!" Donut added. "Every time we meet a new Freelancer, I almost die! Every _time_! I can't be the only one noticing this!"

"The point is," Sarge continued, "we need a plan of action. We've got a Freelancer with teleport capabilities. Even with the damage it's sustained, he's still powerful enough to show up out of the blue and kill us in our sleep." He paused to let that sink in. "Which brings me to the first step of our plan. _No one sleeps_."

"I can already tell I'm gonna hate this plan," Grif remarked. "Next you'll be telling us he's going to find a way to poison all our snacks."

"Which brings me to Step Two—"

"Sir," Simmons interrupted. "Don't you think you're overreacting? I imagine Wash and the Blues will keep him busy for a while."

"But what happens when his thirst for blood proves too strong?" Sarge pointed at Blue Base in the distance. "Sure, who'd miss a few Blues slaughtered without mercy? But then he'll show up on this end of the canyon and it's game over for Red Team!"

Simmons knew better than to keep arguing. There was no point when Sarge had an idea in his head. Which was often. It was like trying to stop a boulder rolling downhill. Better to step aside or get crushed by sheer stupidity.

"Sir," he said slowly, "I think we can take other precautions without resorting to your drastic measures."

"What'd you have in mind?"

"I've learned a few things about how teleporters work ever since that business on Sidewinder. There might be a way for me to create an interdiction field that would cancel out the teleport channel that Freelancer is using to get to our base."

"And what's that in English?" Grif called out. "For those of us who aren't huge honking nerds."

"We'll create a device that stops him from jumping over here and killing us all."

"Oh, great." Grif turned back to Sarge and Donut. "We'll just inconvenience him then. He'll have to come up by foot to kill us. This is the second-best plan I've heard all day."

"Well, I think it's got a shot!" Sarge exclaimed. "Nice thinking there, Simmons. Go and seal the deal on that teleporter field!"

Donut jumped up and down. "Ooh, Simmons, let me help! I'm good with my hands!"

"If I used you, Donut, it'd be as a guinea pig to see if it works."

"Hey, speaking of guinea pigs, did I ever tell you about my nineteenth birthday party—?"

Sarge growled. "Donut, shut up. Simmons, get to work!"


	6. Sweet Home Carolina

**Six – Sweet Home Carolina**

"Hello, Freelancer Calvin! My name's Caboose!" The blue soldier paused as Cal turned away from his disassembled teleporter. "Um. Would you like to be friends? Just for today?"

"I don't have time for friends," Cal snapped. He turned back to his workbench. If he plugged in a new battery and cleaned off the carbon scoring, he just might get the module working.

After a minute of quiet, steady work, he said out loud, "Are you still there?"

"Hello!" said Caboose.

"I said leave me alone."

"Can I stay if I offered you a cookie?"

"No."

"How about a juicebox?"

"Buddy, what is your problem?" Cal looked over his shoulder at the idiot. "Are you seriously a soldier? You sound like you barely made it out of kindergarten."

"Hey, that's not true!" Caboose stepped back defensively. "I made it all the way to the fifth grade!"

"I guess they'll let anyone be a sim trooper." When he looked down at the teleporter, Cal picked up the battery. He turned to Caboose, feeling an idea form. "Okay, tell you what. This is called a plasma battery. I need a new one to make the teleporter work. Why don't run along like a good little soldier and find it for me?"

Caboose stood up straight. "Does this mean we're friends?"

He hated himself for saying it, but it was the only way Cal could think to end the conversation. "Yeah. It means we're friends."

"Yes! In your face, Tucker! I will find you a new plastic buttery, new best friend!" The blue soldier pointed excitedly at the teleporter unit. "And then… _we will play_."

On that ominous note, he ran off like a little kid. Cal stood at the workbench, trying to wrap his head around this crazy place. Sim troopers in pink armor, retired Freelancers, and far less brain cells than firepower.

Good thing he wouldn't be here for long.

* * *

From the moment she set foot in Blood Gulch, Carolina knew something was wrong. She crouched on the hilltop and surveyed the landscape.

Church appeared on her shoulder. "Hey, I'm picking up a lot of discharge in the air. Didn't you say Cal was equipped with a mobile teleporter?"

"It was another of the Director's experiments. We wanted to see how they'd work for hit-and-run ops. It worked all right, but there wasn't time to develop it."

"Because they were working on the Alpha," Church concluded. He shuddered. "Fantastic."

Carolina stood up and turned toward Blue Base. "Come on. Let's go say hello."

* * *

Wash sat up in his chair the moment he heard the smoke alarms go off. "Caboose!"

Almost immediately, the soldier in question appeared in his doorway. "Um, please don't be mad, Mr. Washington. Our new Freelancer buddy needed a plasma thingy and there was one in the ice machine—"

"How…? Why…?" Wash shook his head. "Ugh, never mind! Take me to Cal!"

Caboose fidgeted. "Oh! I couldn't do that. See, he put the plastic butter in his teleporter and now he's… disappeared."

"Just great! You're doing a _fantastic _job, Caboose!" Wash shouldered past him into the corridor.

"Thank you!" Caboose replied sincerely.

"That was sarcasm!"

"I think your hair is nice, too!"

* * *

He found Cal outside Blue Base, repeating running forward with his teleporter module. The Freelancer would vanish in a blur of green sparks, only to reappear on the exact same spot two seconds later.

"This! Can't! Be! _Happening_!" he said over the course of his micro-jumps.

"Slow down, Cal!" Wash came up to hold him back. "You haven't fixed it yet!"

Panting furiously, Cal turned on him and shook the module. "Actually it's working fine, Wash! It's this _canyon_ that's broken!"

"That… doesn't make sense." Wash thought for a moment, then added, "Most of the time."

"Some asshole set up an interdiction field!" Cal screamed. "I can't jump anywhere while it's up!"

"Huh." Wash looked out at the canyon. "They haven't rebuilt their robot yet, but I suppose that would be Red Team's doing."

"Good, so I know who to kill first!"

Wash put a warning hand on his Magnum. "You're not killing anyone while I'm around, Cal. I'll put one right between your eyes if you do."

Cal stared back in silent fury for a moment. Wash never flinched. His hand tightened on the pistol.

Finally, the Freelancer nodded and put away his module. "Okay, you win. But the sooner I can leave, the better."

"Why?" Wash and Cal turned to see Carolina with a pair of plasma pistols drawn. "What's your rush?"

"Son of a bitch," Cal breathed. "It's really you. Been a while, Carolina."

"Same to you, California." She holstered her guns and crossed her arms. "Now what brings you to Blood Gulch?"

"I'm going after the Counselor. You want in on that hunt, just say the word."

Something blue rippled over Carolina's shoulder. Church soon appeared in full-form armor. "I can already tell this is going to be a long-ass adventure."

"It can't be…" Cal glanced at his former friends. "Is that the _Alpha_?"

"Alpha, Epsilon, Leonard Church… I got lots of names, buddy. I'm just that awesome."

Wash noticed that Cal had gone completely silent. He didn't like that one bit. "You need a second?"

"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine."

Carolina looked at Wash. "What's this about an interdiction field?"

"Cal spooked the Reds when he showed up. They've probably set up countermeasures to keep him from teleporting into their base." Wash turned and stared at his old compatriot. "I can't imagine _why_…"

"I guess Sarge overdid it a little," Church observed. He glanced up at the sky. "I've got a reading that says this field is covering the entire canyon."

"So I guess that means you're stuck with us for a while." Carolina walked over and slapped Cal on the back. "Let's go inside. We'll work this out."

"Okay, but let's do it topside." Wash slid an uneasy glance at the new plume of black smoke rising up from the base. "I keep forgetting what happens when I let Caboose into the kitchen unsupervised."

"…Tucker did it!" Caboose called out from somewhere in the base. Wash sighed and followed the others.


	7. Reporting For Duty

**Seven – Reporting For Duty**

Grif clutched at his head. "Dear God, make it stop!"

Simmons looked up from the console. "Oh, don't be such a baby. It's not even at full power!"

They were on top of Red Base, where Simmons had rebuilt the teleporter into an interference field generator. Instead of the usual green glow, the teleporter now gave off a shimmering red light. Simmons thought it was a pleasant shade of maroon, much like his armor. He figured it deserved his signature.

"You know what? I take back what I said about this stupid device. It'll work great!" Grif kicked at the generator. "Ow! It'll give that Freelancer such a headache that he won't want to come over here!"

"Okay, so there are some side effects." Simmons shrugged. He felt fine, though that might have had something to do with his cybernetic implants from that surgery Sarge performed on him. At least Sarge had stopped calling him "Simmons 2.0."

Grif knelt down, still holding his head in his hands. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'd give anything to be back at Sidewinder. At least then I could stick my head into the snow for relief!"

Simmons perked up. "Hey, you never know. I could hack into Command again and get you some relocation orders by sunset."

"Arrrgh…"

"Can it, you two!" Sarge came up the base stairs. "And Simmons, where's the aspirin?"

"In the medicine cabinet, sir! Where we always keep it!"

"Hah, not anymore!" Sarge pointed at Grif, still squirming in agony. "Aspirin is for the weak! A real soldier has the discipline of mind to power through all this crazy brain static! You could take a lesson, Private!"

"I'd rather take a bullet to the head…" Grif quickly looked up as Sarge pumped his shotgun. "Wait, wait, wait! I was kidding! Only kidding!"

"You sure? Because my trigger finger's feeling mighty twitchy!"

Simmons shook his head and looked down at the console. The interference field was now at half-intensity, covering the entire canyon. With any luck, it would keep any Freelancers from coming in or out by teleporter.

_Then again_, thought Simmons, _when have we ever had that kind of luck_?

* * *

Carolina found Cal standing alone on top of Blue Base, looking out at the distance. When he turned around, she could hear the faint warping noise of a radio being switched off.

"Making a long-distance call?" she asked.

"Sorry about that. The Chairman insists I transmit a daily field report. Ever since what happened with Wash, he doesn't trust letting his agents into the field without communication."

Carolina nodded and came up beside him. "So. The Counselor."

"I've been tracking him for a while now." Cal handed her a data card stamped with the Project Freelancer insignia. "This is a copy of the last report submitted by the Counselor to the UNSC. I've been combing it for clues to his whereabouts. Psychoanalyzing the psychiatrist, as it were."

"Anything develop so far?"

Cal shook his head. "I checked through every file Command had on him. I've been to the Offsite Storage Facility, and even picked over a few of our old battlefields. Remember the cyro facility?"

"That was where we got the data about the Sarcophagus."

"Which, by the way, is still unaccounted for."

Carolina turned to him. "You think the Counselor has it?"

"He was involved with the AI from the start. And since you didn't find it with the Director, where else is it gonna turn up?"

That thought didn't bode well. Carolina turned as Church appeared in the air between them. "I don't suppose you remember anything."

"I know the Director better than I do the Counselor," Church admitted, "but that doesn't mean I can't make an educated guess." He turned to the data card in Carolina's hand. "I'm going in for a look. I won't be long."

Cal looked the AI over. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Hey, it's all good. I won't corrupt your data. Or your porn, if you're keeping it there."

"Just go," Carolina sighed.

The AI dissolved into the card in a flash.

* * *

_Beep beep beep_.

The signal showed up on Lance's radar. He looked over at his fellow mercenaries, all wearing identical CQB helmets. "It's confirmed, boss. The goods are in Blood Gulch."

"Show me." Marcus walked to Lance's console, casually nodding at his men or slapping them on the back. He still wasn't getting the hang of camaraderie.

Lance pointed at his readout. Three beeps, based on a military transponder.

Marcus laughed. "Well, that brightens _my _day. Okay, team. Suit up! We ship out in thirty!"

"I'm going through Command's files." This came from Lance's partner, a girl in blue armor named Raven. "There are two teams of soldiers stationed there, all rated at veteran status."

"The more, the merrier, my dear Raven." Lance watched as Marcus began to sharpen the combat knife he wore on his belt, relishing each fresh stroke. "If they're going to have such nice toys, then they've gotta learn to _share_."


	8. Therapy Session

**Eight – Therapy Session**

Church reappeared inside the data card. Since it used holographic storage, he found he could manipulate the environment into something suitable for a physical presence. It wasn't always fun navigating lines of raw computer code and circuit patterns as an AI.

Around him formed a massive room with a vaulted ceiling and endless blue light patterns set inside white walls. It was a reasonable facsimile of the AI Storage Rooms at the Freelance Operations Center, where Wash and the Alpha had first retrieved his memory unit.

Somewhere nearby, he heard a low and soothing voice say, "I think we should consider him for a Recovery agent."

"Are you so sure he can trusted?" a familiar Texan drawl answered. That was the Director.

"He has a history of obedience, if nothing else," the Counselor replied. Church began to walk through the corridor, trying to follow their voices. "He's a reliable field operative, though not our best. And given his trauma with Epsilon, we can safely assume he'll have no intention of stealing an AI for himself."

Church turned the corner and looked out at a memory being played out. He saw the Director and the Counselor standing in front of a holographic table in their command center. The Director had his back to Church. That was fine; he knew every line and hue in the man's face, and so many memories of who he'd been before Project Freelancer.

The Counselor was more visible. Tall, dark, and eerily serene. Even going through his memories as Alpha, Church couldn't think of a single time the Counselor had ever misspoke or raised his voice. He was always in control, even when playing the subordinate.

Just one of the few things that pissed Church off so fucking much about the guy.

"If he proves himself on this first assignment," the Director replied, "then perhaps I'll allow it." He pressed his finger on the table's console. "FILSS, please summon Agent Washington."

"At once, Director," the AI responded. Church beamed at the sound of her voice. She was still a friend, even after all the hell she'd put him through as Sheila.

Church focused on the Counselor. "Okay, buddy. Let's see what else you've been up to…"

* * *

Wash stared. "I can't believe you're actually considering this. After all you went through when we were hunting the Director!"

"I don't like it anymore than you do," Carolina replied. She was going over every weapon in her arsenal. Plasma pistols, battle rifle, Magnum, grenades, electric baton, and her armor's speed and camouflage enhancements. All operational and primed. She flexed her wrist and tested her camouflage, blending into the base wall seamlessly and reappearing just as smoothly.

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Look, Wash." Carolina faced him with a defensive stance. "I don't care for Cal's attitude either, but he might respond to having a partner. If the worst should happen, Church and I can stop him. You know we can handle it."

Wash didn't speak for a moment. Then, as he turned to leave, he said, "Take care, boss."

"You too, Wash."

* * *

The virtual environment inside the data card was shifting again. Church stood still as the vaulted ceiling and holographic storage walls disappeared. Now he was in the middle of a familiar white landscape littered with gray bases.

Sidewinder. Where all the trouble began and the Meta came to an end.

He saw the Counselor standing inside one of the bases, talking to one of the AI. Church recognized it as Gamma.

"Scenario Four is complete," the monotone-voiced program announced. "We will now proceed to the final chapter in Blood Gulch."

"You must take care when dealing with the Alpha," said the Counselor. "He appears to be adjusting to these scenarios. If the time loop did not break him before—"

"We will not fail," Gamma responded. "Agent Wyoming believes that we are close to locating the alien artifact in their possession. It will not be long before it is ours."

_Tucker's sword_, Church realized. He remembered all the havoc Wyoming had caused and how Tucker's possession of the alien energy sword had led to him upsetting the Freelancer's plans.

The alien artifacts had a role to play in all this. The Sarcophagus. The energy sword. The dig team in the desert. And all those military tech gangs that he and Carolina had been tracking down one by one. Everyone was after a little souvenir from the Great War, it seemed.

Gamma dissolved a second later. When the Counselor turned around, he touched one of the wall consoles, setting off a trio of rising chimes.

"This is a project advisory," said the Counselor. "Under no circumstances can the Alpha be allowed to revisit Sidewinder. Sufficient trauma must be established to prevent its return. This is a Level One priority."

"Understood, Counselor," said FILSS. "I will log the advisory for all project personnel."

"Thank you, FILSS. I believe I will retire for the evening."

"Good night, sir."

Church watched him turn away. As he did, the scene fragmented and Church reappeared in the real world.

"Sidewinder. The Counselor's gotta be at Sidewinder."


	9. Knock Knock

**Nine – Knock Knock**

Raven swept the canyon with her sniper rifle. "We've got movement. The two Freelancers are heading for the north end."

"On their way out?" asked Marcus. He was done polishing his armor and put on his brown CQB helmet. It never hurt to look good when going into battle.

"Yes, sir."

Marcus patted her shoulder. "Good recon, my dear. Now join your brothers and sisters."

Raven hesitated before responding, "Er, yes, sir."

He watched her fall back to the nine other soldiers assembled on the hilltop. Deserters, ex-cons, and all-around scoundrels. All handpicked for this fine job in Blood Gulch. And who better to lead the slaughter than Marcus?

_I'll show those pricks at Command what _"_reckless behavior_" _really looks like_, he thought. His heart swelled with pride.

"Listen up," he said to his men. "Thanks to our intel, we know that the interference field is coming from Red Base. If we strike hard and fast, we'll be able to secure it before their reinforcements arrive from the other side of the canyon. I don't want to see any mercy or mistakes on this op. We take what we want and kill everyone in our path. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" his team responded.

Marcus sighed with satisfaction. He missed days like this one. A shame they had to end the war so soon.

"Lock and load. We move in two. We're done in twenty." He turned to Lance, who had put on his green-and-brown gear. "You can start jamming the radios once the Freelancers are gone."

"You got it, sir!"

* * *

Grif stared out at the motor pool below the base, waiting for his headache to finally clear up. He saw two beat-up Warthogs and a Mongoose they'd stolen at some point in their adventures. Probably after they'd ditched the Hornets they'd stolen from Sidewinder.

He still hated the thought of doing work, but for some reason, he had no problem as a driver. At least he got to sit down on the job and let the vehicle do all the work.

"Donut, leave me alone!" Simmons came running up from inside the base.

"Oh, come in, Simmons!" Donut came trailing after him like an eager puppy. "Just this once!"

"I said no!"

"What's going on?" asked Grif.

"Donut's trying to convince me to race him from one end of the canyon to the other."

"Hmm. That seems pretty tame for one of Donut's requests."

"_And _he says that the winner has to ride in the loser's lap on the way back."

"Ah, there it is." Grif glanced at Donut. "Dude, that's just not happening."

"Aw, don't be a spoilsport, Grif! What else are we gonna do with those awesome vehicles?"

"I dunno. Let them sit and take a five-hour siesta?"

Something hissed in the air behind him. When Grif turned, he saw a pair of plasma grenades land in the middle of the motor pool. He jumped back when the thing exploded, sending the Warthogs flying and obliterating the Mongoose completely. Donut screamed and ducked behind Simmons for cover.

"Or," Grif added, "we could just watch them explode. And if Sarge asks, this is _your _fault, Donut."

Right on cue, Sarge came running up to the top of the base with his shotgun drawn. "Great Stonewall's ghost! We're under attack! Battle stations, men!"

"Wait, we have stations?" asked Grif.

"Just try not to get killed, dumbass," Simmons replied. He was already going for the rocket launcher on the other side of the base. "Ready, sir!"

"I'll get the Grif Shot!" Grif headed downstairs. "And I get first dibs on post-battle snacks!"

* * *

Tucker lowered his sniper rifle. "Hey, Wash? I think you'd better check this out."

"Is it Caboose-related?"

"Definitely not."

"Good." Wash took the rifle and zoomed out across the canyon. "I've had enough of those for one morning."

When he saw the fire in front of Red Base and the soldiers in multicolored armor swarming it, his voice caught in his throat. The CQB helmets as military surplus. They reminded him of the ODST gear that the Insurrection soldiers wore back in the day.

_Oh, how history repeats itself_, he thought grimly and handed the rifle back to Tucker.

"Dammit. Go and find Doc. Tell him to be ready for incoming wounded, and then get Caboose. We need to be ready to assist the Reds."

"Ok, I'm on it!" The aqua-armored soldier went below, already grabbing and arming his sword.

Wash activated his radio and set it for Carolina's frequency. "Carolina, come in. This is Wash."

Nothing but static. He switched to another frequency. "Cal, do you read me? This is—"

Still static. Reception in Blood Gulch was normally fine. And since the other ex-Freelancers hadn't been gone too long, that left only one other explanation.

They were being jammed. This was a planned assault.

Wash primed his battle rifle and went below to join the others.


	10. Outgunned And Outnumbered

**Chapter Ten – Outgunned And Outnumbered**

Explosion after explosion drove the Reds away from their base. Grif tried to send the invaders packing with his Brute Shot, but three of them had their own. And Simmons's rocket launcher couldn't compete with their missile pods. These guys were armed for dealing out overwhelming defeats. With each new attack, the four Reds were slowly forced to take cover behind their wrecked Warthogs.

"Oh God, I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die!" Grif shouted. He was running low on ammo and took cover. "Donut, get _off _me!"

Donut's arms tightened around his waist. "I'm scared, Grif! I need emotional support!"

"Emotional support my ass!"

"Well, if you think it would help—"

"Just an expression, Donut!"

Sarge, meanwhile, was calling out insane battle-cries as he fired off shotgun rounds at the assault team. "Yeah! Come and get some, dirtbags! This here's the Red Team Store, and today we've got a sale on _bullets in your face_!"

"Ugh!" Simmons tossed his rocket launcher down and grabbed his battle rifle. "Stupid thing's jammed! Sir, call for the Blues!"

"And let them steal our glorious victory? Never!"

"We're _losing_, sir!"

"No, we're not!" Sarge managed to shoot one of the thugs in the shoulder—their first confirmed hit on the enemy. "We're making our stand, preparing for a glorious charge in the face of overwhelming odds!"

"Oh, really?" Grif groaned as he ducked away from a near-fatal missile attack. "Because it looks to me like we're about to die gruesomely."

"Marcus!" a strange voice called out from the top of the base. "We've got it!"

"Uh oh." Simmons took out his handheld computer. "I was afraid of that."

"Afraid of what?" Sarge called out over his shotgun blasts.

"They're after the interference field generator. The canyon's unprotected now."

"Samson's beard! That dirty Freelancer must've called in reinforcements!"

"We don't know that, sir!"

"Don't we, Simmons? Don't we?"

"_Attention, assholes_!" another voice called out on a loudspeaker. "_We have you surrounded_! _Your field generator is now ours_! _Lay down your weapons and you'll be killed_!"

"Wait a minute," Simmons called back. "Don't you mean 'Or you _won't _be killed'?"

The gunfire and missile attacks paused just long enough for the speaker to reply, "_No, I don't_."

Then the barrage started up again. Grif found himself praying for either a miracle or a swift and painless death—far away from Donut's eager touch.

* * *

On the edge of the forest, Cal came to a halt. "Sorry for the wait. I've got to check in again."

"Not a problem," said Carolina. "We'll be back here."

She turned and slid back through the trees while Church appeared in full-size alongside her.

"Talk to me," she whispered.

"So far, everything Cal has said checks out," he replied. "The Counselor's gotta be hiding at Sidewinder. I don't know how he's eluded the authorities this long, but that's what my gut is telling me."

"Since when do AI go with their gut?"

"Ok, I'm extrapolating from a data analysis. Whatever you wanna call it."

"But you have some reservations."

Church looked over at Cal, who was kneeling down and checking his equipment. Then he turned to Carolina. "Yeah, I do. I get how Wash was acting when he teamed up with the Meta to get me, but Cal's got something else going on. He was ready to kill the Reds for taking his teleporter. Now I get he's got some anger issues—and I know I'm hardly one to talk—but Cal seems less anxious about getting the Counselor and more obsessed with the tech involved."

"So you think he's gone rogue? Another postwar scavenger?"

"Why not? The Meta went after Freelancers for their armor enhancements and their AI. Take away the AI and the raging insanity, and what you've got left?"

"I think you might be jumping to conclusions, Church."

Then Carolina heard the click of a Magnum behind her head.

"Actually," Cal said smoothly, "he's not."

Carolina didn't waste any time. She slid her head to the side and tried to hook Cal's leg with her own. He twisted out of reach, firing for her center mass. She responded with a duck that turned into an uppercut to his chin. Then she grabbed his Magnum away and took out her own, training both guns onto his head.

"You always were a lousy shot," said Carolina. "Now what's all this about, Cal?"

The blue-armored Freelancer stood perfectly still with his hands at his side. "Just a little thing called retribution, Carolina. Taking back what's ours. We Freelancers earned all those spoils in battle. All the armor enhancements and alien tech. The Director might be gone, but I'll be damned if some bureaucrat gets to confiscate what's left of our legacy."

"It wasn't about the tech," Carolina insisted. "We were on the wrong side of the law, Cal. Our legacy is _failure_. We failed each other and the Director failed us. Who knows how many lives we risked in the war because we weren't better at our job?"

"Doesn't matter. We spilled too much blood to let a little thing like the law get in the way. The Freelancers were a team. We _had_ a culture and we've gotta honor that culture every day." Cal tapped a module on his belt. "And that's exactly what my crew and I are gonna do."

Carolina took aim and fired, but it was too late. Cal disappeared in a green flash of light.

"Dammit!" She put her guns away and grabbed her plasma pistols. "We've got to get back to Blood Gulch!"

"Radio's jammed," said Church. "And we're five minutes away!"

"Not a problem," said Carolina. She reached down and activated her speed unit.

Then she and Church were just a faint green streak through the woods.


	11. Returning Your Call

**Eleven – Returning Your Call**

"Men, it's been an honor to serve with you," Sarge declared. "Using, of course, the loosest definition of 'honor.' And, in Grif's case, 'men.'"

Simmons could barely hear him over the constant explosions. "Wow, how many times have we heard this speech?"

"You know, I'm not actually worried," said Grif. He was sitting down on his Brute Shot with his hands clasped casually behind his head. "I'm sure this is just building up for a surprise rescue."

"Grif, half the time _we're _the surprise rescue."

"Yeah, but the other half it's Tucker, Church, or Washington, so it's all good."

"But when is it going to be my knight in shining armor?" Donut wailed. "When?!"

Sarge, meanwhile, was going on with his usual last stand speech. He had already gotten to the part about how Grif would be the first to go—"as a distraction to the enemy's advance"—when the Reds noticed a green flash above their heads. They ducked, but it wasn't a grenade or a missile.

Instead, Agent California stood on top of one of the wrecked Warthogs. He grabbed the battle rifle that one of the enemy troops had thrown to him and pointed it at Sarge.

"Sorry about this, fellas," he said casually. "But once you set up an interference field, how I could possibly resist? You're looking at a guy who's got a monopoly on teleporters."

Grif shook his head. "Ugh. Why couldn't Donut have accidentally cut your throat while you were asleep?"

"Life's funny like that." Cal slid a fresh magazine into the rifle and took aim. "Adios, dirtbags."

His finger squeezed the trigger—

There was a very loud burst of gunfire. Simmons cried out when he thought Sarge had been hit, but then he saw that wasn't the case.

Cal looked down at his empty hands. Someone had shot the rifle out of his grip. "What the _hell_?"

"Sorry, buddy." Wash casually strolled over to the mercenaries, aiming his rifle right at Cal. "But like I said before, you're not killing anyone while I'm around."

"Thank God!" Donut cheered. "It's Blue Team!"

"Dagnabbit," Sarge muttered.

Cal snarled and moved to activate the teleporter module on his waist. Wash fired off two more rounds, blowing it apart in a violent green flash. The blue-armored Freelancer went tumbling to the ground.

"Stand your ground!" the mercenary leader—Marcus—shouted. He pointed to the soldier on top of Red Base, who was holding the field generator Simmons had built. "Lance! Bring it here! We're leaving!"

"Oh, I don't think so," Tucker called out. He leapt out from behind a tree, slashing at the mercs with his energy sword. "Swish! Swish! Stab! You're dead!"

Wash continued to take aim and shoot for the leader, while Simmons and Grif provided cover fire, driving the mercs away from Red Base.

Marcus, meanwhile, was able to parry Tucker's sword swipes with pair of combat knives. He drew back when he saw his soldier Lance come running out of Red Base with the generator in his hands.

"Great work, Lance, my boy!" The leader aimed a kick for Tucker's head, then retreated over to Lance's side. "Now let's go!"

Lance turned to him and spoke with a distinctly female voice. "Okay. You first."

"What—?"

The merc's armor rippled, transforming into a familiar green suit of armor. Carolina tossed the generator to Marcus, who caught it. However, he didn't have time to stop her from kicking him in the jaw and knocking him out cold.

"Nice job, boss," said Wash.

"Hey!" Caboose came running after the retreating mercenaries. "Where are you guys going? We never got to play! I brought you all presents!"

Simmons was surprised to see the Blue soldier tossing grenades at the mercenaries. They tripped and stumbled over their fallen comrades, with only one or two managing to escape. By the time the last one had gotten out of the canyon, Caboose stood obliviously on a mound of dead troops.

"Yay!" he cried. "Nine points! I win!"

Wash sighed. "All right, gang. We're done. Carolina, if you could keep Cal restrained, I'll radio Command."

"Ha ha!" Sarge fired off a celebratory shotgun round. "Another victory for Red Team!"

"Victory?" Grif looked at his mad commanding officer. "The Blues saved our asses again!"

"Yes, but it's a victory in that we live to fight another day! Ahh, I love my job!"

"Whatever. I still got dibs on post-battle snacks."

"And I get sloppy seconds!" Donut chimed in.


	12. Until Next Time

**Twelve – Until Next Time**

A pair of Hornets soared overhead as the UNSC task force went about securing Blood Gulch. It was a familiar sight after the mayhem with the Meta at Sidewinder: gray soldiers clearing away the deceased, cataloging every shot fired, and confiscating any weapons and equipment that the Reds and Blues hadn't discreetly stolen away.

The team commander, Captain Jones, stood outside Blue Base, looking over the motley crew stationed in the canyon. They were trading jokes and insults like good friends—or very bad ones, in his opinion.

"Well, I'd say this about wraps it up for the Freelancers," said Jones. "We've accounted for them all, either dead or in custody."

He and the Blue Team leader were watching four soldiers escort a wounded Agent California into the back of a Warthog. They'd slapped him in handcuffs and stripped him of all weapons and armor enhancements. He hadn't said a word since the end of the firefight.

"But I've got to say, you guys sure know how to handle yourselves under fire." Jones turned and offered the Blue leader his hand. "It's a pleasure to work with you, uh, Captain…"

"Actually, it's Private." The blue-and-yellow soldier shook his hand. "Private Church. And you're welcome."

"Right. Private Church." Jones thought he'd heard that voice somewhere before. He remembered a certain prisoner he'd overseen back when he'd been a senior guard at the UNSC Maximum Security Detention Facility. But that Freelancer had gotten himself killed on a mission for the Chairman, tangling with Agent Tex and the Meta.

He figured he was just imagining things.

"I don't suppose we can keep the interference field?" asked Private Church. "Just for protection against other intruders?"

"Sorry, that's UNSC property now. And who else were you expecting to show up?"

The private turned away. "You'd be surprised at the kind of attention we seem to attract."

* * *

From her vantage point on the hillside, camouflaged against the snow, Carolina watched the UNSC raid on the Sidewinder base very closely. She couldn't bring herself to move, as if afraid that a single twitch might spoil the moment. Even Church was unusually quiet.

It took about five minutes for the raid to end. When it did, they watched as the authorities came out from the base, with the Counselor in custody.

He'd gone gray since the last time Carolina had seen him, so many years ago. And he seemed weary now. That calm face he'd put up for so many years had cracked ever so slightly at last. He looked, as Church would say, fucking pissed off.

It wasn't until they saw the troops escorting the Counselor into their Hornet that Church finally spoke up. "You know, I'm actually kind of glad we didn't have to do this one ourselves. I don't think I could have handled another face-to-face after what happened with the Director."

"What's the matter?" Carolina asked. "Afraid you'll get emotional?"

"If by 'emotional,' you mean 'filled with a burning righteous anger,' then yes, I suppose I do."

"At least the UNSC could take care of it themselves." Carolina smiled inside her helmet. "And all it took was an anonymous tip."

"Speaking of which, what's next for us? The Counselor's the last of the big ones to round up."

Carolina waited until the Hornet took off, quickly fading into the wintry sky. Then she turned off her camouflage and began to walk down to the surface. Around one snowy bend was her Mongoose, primed and ready to go.

"I suppose," she said, "that we'll go back to what we were doing before. Taking down military tech gangs one by one. Reclaiming what they stole and setting right everything we did wrong before."

"Not to mention," Church added, "We've got a crew in Blood Gulch to look after every now and then."

"Right." Carolina hopped onto her Mongoose and revved the engine. "So, back to work?"

Church appeared on her shoulder and nodded. "Ready when you are."

THE END


End file.
